Page 30 of Taken In Trade
She’s feisty, I’ve seen that much over the years. Her breakdown earlier—if I can call it that, she was reasonably upset under the circumstances—seems like something someone should keep an eye on. That someone should be Moretti, but who knows if she’ll even want to be close to him after the shock of tonight wears off.
She’s had a lot thrown at her in a short period of time where she, once again, had her free will taken away and plans made for her.
I wouldn’t be shocked if she put her dress on from the party and tried to escape via the balcony. Hell, if she managed to make it down three stories in that tiny dress and heels, I’d be impressed.
The door handle isn’t locked when I try it, and I make my way into the room, stopping dead in my tracks. My nostrils flare, and I’m smacked with the scent of her perfume.
Omegas perfume in the days or weeks leading up to a heat, and the smell is so potent it can knock rational sense out of unbonded alphas. It’s like pheromones on steroids, and the scent of Vanessa’s perfume permeating the air makes my knot throb.
That’s a fucking problem.
I take my ass to the attached bathroom, use it, and wash my hands.
This is just another thing that I’ll have to warn Moretti about. She can’t ride out a heat without alphas, and he seems convinced that he wants to keep their relationship in stasis untilhe’sready for a real marriage.
I’m sure she’s going to love that.
I’m also positive Vanessa is capable of showing Moretti the error of his ways.
I exit the bathroom into the bedroom, and again stop in my tracks.
Moretti stands at the edge of the bed in sweats and a T-shirt. He must hear me because he spins around. The low lighting makes it difficult to make out his face, but he doesn’t look pleased about something.
He strides over to where I stand and whispers. “What’s wrong with her?”
I shrug and keep my voice low as I speak. “Outside of the fact you forced her into marrying you and none of the thousands of dollars of clothes that Francesca bought fit? I’d say she’s exhausted.”
“She’s perfuming and warm to the touch,” he says softly, glancing back over his shoulder.
“I’m sure she takes suppressants. You didn’t give her any warning before bringing her here. What did you think was going to happen?”
He’s really starting to get on my damn nerves. The mafia families with omega daughters either ply them full of suppressants or force them to ride out heats without alphas. It’s fucked up and barbaric, to say the least, but in his haste, he must have forgotten about that fact. I don’t have the first clue how, considering he ranted and raved about being disgusted over the conversation where Grigoryan implied that she’d better still be a virgin.
Whether she is or isn’t is none of my goddamn business.
What is?
Taking care of her until Moretti gets his head out of his ass and realizes he legitimately forced the woman to marry him and then kidnapped her. He wouldn’t have done that if he couldn’t see a future with her. He’s just going to take his sweet time about coming to that realization. If he’s not careful, he’s going to fuck things up to the point it’ll be hard to come back from.
“I should have considered that,” Moretti says, shaking his head. “I’ll set her up with my private physician as soon as he’s available.” His head tilts. “Where is your shirt?”
A lazy smirk crosses my face as I nod to the bed. “On your wife. I wasn’t fucking around when I said none of the clothes came close to fitting her.”
Moretti spins back toward the bed, and I take that as my opportunity to get the fuck out of here. Not that I can go far, but I have a feeling I’m going to need a good night of sleep to deal with Vanessa at full capacity.
Chapter Ten
Vanessa
Iwake up warm and well-rested. I’m safe, comfortable, and covered in Hawk’s scent. I’m pretty sure he had just put the T-shirt on before going to bed, but somehow, I could still smell him like he was cuddled up behind me as I fell back to sleep. It settled my frazzled nerves, and I’m not sure how I feel about that.
My bodyguard is missing when I make my way into the sitting room. I’m not about to stay trapped in here all day, so I head downstairs. The layout of the house isn’t complicated, and once I’m on the bottom floor, I use a combination of basic remembrance of what I saw on the way in and my nose to follow the smell of breakfast.
I was starving before I went to sleep, and my stomach is about three seconds away from eating itself.
Moretti made a point to say this house is now my home as much as it is his. He shouldn’t have said it if he didn’t want me to believe it.
It takes a fair amount of confidence to walk into the kitchen knowing I’m only clad in Hawk’s T-shirt. Hell, I don’t even have a bra on, since the dress last night made wearing one impossible.
